No Salvation In Dreams
by Suilven
Summary: He had tried to remind himself that it was over between them, that it had been for a long time. Maybe it had never even existed at all. Yet, here he was, outside her door, seeking an absolution that she couldn't give him. Pre-ME3.


He shouldn't be here but, dammit, how was he supposed to just walk away? After everything…

Never mind the fact that he was _already_ here, standing frozen, like a bumbling idiot, in front of the red glowing panel that sealed the door to her room.

The temporary passcode he'd been given by Admiral Anderson cycled through his thoughts in a monotonous stream of characters; burned into his brain from the murmured repetitions over the past twenty-four hours. His biotics were barely under control; energy bleeding into the air around him in slowly dispersing gouts of blue.

Lieutenant Vega had thankfully already been sent away, glowering and muttering curses in Spanish that he must have thought Kaidan wouldn't understand. The only thing between them now was this door, a door that he could choose to open—or not—but the _choice_ was his. Only his.

His hands had unconsciously clenched into fists, his shoulders tensed; his body already gearing up for the fight it thought was coming. He _made_ his fingers unfurl, pretending that the sheen of sweat gathering on his forehead and the back of his neck was from the hours he'd spent in the exercise room earlier this afternoon—never mind that he'd showered and was immaculately turned out in his dress blues.

Never mind that she was just a woman, _just_ the insurmountable Commander Shepard—another mistake in his past.

The first time he'd met her, beneath the crisp salute and formal greetings, he'd already known he was lost. How had it been possible that she could remind him so much of Rahna… enough that the girl in his mind had begun to look and sound more like Shepard with each day that passed; enough that he'd broken the fraternization regs without even a backward glance at the reputation he'd been leaving behind. He was a soldier who followed the rules, everyone knew that; _he_ knew that. Yet, after she'd commandeered the Normandy to race off recklessly after Saren, he'd fallen into her bed like the new recruits in basic that fucked each other senseless to work off the unfamiliar adrenaline of combat.

It hadn't been wild and uninhibited; it hadn't been the tender caresses of lovers exploring each other for the first time. No, the sex had been fierce and focused—like they were working their way through a combat zone. Driven by instinct, there had been no conscious thought; only action and reaction, response and counter.

He'd driven himself into her—Rahna's name unspoken on his lips—seeking his salvation in the way she arched to meet him; the force of his thrusts drawing moans from his throat to match hers. Neither of them had lasted long the first time, and then he'd worked her with his mouth, his hands, his tongue; driving her to the edge as she'd shattered over and over with his name a whispered litany in his ears until he was hard and aching once more. She'd pushed him back against the sweat-soaked sheets, straddling his thighs and riding him with her head thrown back and a choked cry in her throat— hoarse and raw and primal—that had broken whatever control he'd had; wanting to draw that noise from her again and again.

His hands had roamed over her breasts, teasing and pulling, before settling on her hips to hold her in place as he'd come with a roar that had made his throat burn. She'd clenched around him just after, her own fingers frantically seeking release one last time before she'd collapsed against his chest; both of them gasping for breath as he'd pushed the damp strands of hair away from her cheeks and kissed her like a drowning man, his redemption in the taste of her on his tongue.

Yet, after Saren had fallen, he'd become distant, pushing her away. She was too much like Rahna and not enough—never enough— as he'd untangled her hands from around his neck at the victory party. He'd wished she'd have gotten angry at him, had given him an outlet for how much he'd hated _himself_ in that moment, but she'd covered up the blaze of hurt in her eyes with a smile so patently false that he'd made his excuses and fled.

It had been a guilty relief when she'd died, both of them finally forever lost to him just like he'd always deserved. In response, he'd thrown himself into his next posting; working longer shifts than he'd been assigned, spending his off-duty time working out and training on the holographic combat simulators.

If he'd been lucky, he'd have exhausted himself enough to sleep when he fell into his cot. If not, the memories of both women had lurked at the edges of his vision, their mirrored shadows merged into one whole; ghosts who'd ridden him in the hollow darkness of his closed fist until he'd felt the cooling reminder of his ill-won release trickling over his fingers.

Then, the rumours had begun to creep in that Shepard was alive, risen from the skeletal ashes of the Normandy; resurrected with a touch from the Illusive Man's finger. He hadn't known what to think, what to believe, so he'd merely tried to go on as he had been before… until Horizon.

Until she'd strolled back into his life with a casual embrace and an 'it's been a long time, Kaidan' like none of it had mattered; like the years without her had been a hallucination borne of too many sleepless nights staring at himself in the mirror and wondering who was looking back.

It hadn't mattered that he'd walked away, that she'd been spaced and dead and haunting him for two years. It hadn't mattered, not when he'd been able to pick up the scent of her hair beneath the scorched odour of spent heat sinks as he'd rested his cheek against the top of her head. He'd pulled her tight with an intensity that betrayed his feigned indifference.

It was only when she'd stepped back that the warmth in his eyes had died, taking in the Cerberus logo emblazoned on her armour; it had seen enough use that the paint was already fading, already chipped and worn. Used.

Did it matter that she was alive, if she'd betrayed the Alliance—betrayed _him_—in the process?

He'd walked away from her—again.

Now, she was here. Stripped of her rank, quietly escorted to secret committee meetings day after day. He knew what she was accused of—everyone did—and all he could hope for was that she'd had a damn good reason for what she'd done. But, that wasn't why _he_ was here.

He'd spent a lot of long nights after Horizon wondering where he'd gone wrong, wondering if he'd ever really seen Shepard for who she was instead of who he'd wanted and needed her to be. He'd sent her a message once, far too late at night and after far too much to drink, but she'd never replied. Maybe it was a mistake to come here now, but all the things he hadn't said had become too heavy to carry any longer; rough stones, etched with regret, slipping down his throat to settle into a bitter cairn in the pit of his stomach.

His fingers were trembling as he punched in the passcode, hesitating for a moment after the panel went green.

Shepard was sitting on her bed, half-reclined against the wall, with a datapad balanced on her bent knees. She was dressed in casual fatigues, her hair left loose and longer than he could ever remember it being. Only her eyes registered her surprise, although the reaction was almost immediately curtailed. "Kaidan."

It was a statement, not a question.

"Shepard." He stepped forward, into her room, back into her life, and the door hissed shut behind him; its access panel red once more.

She didn't stand up, didn't move. "Did you… need something?"

"Yes. I don't know." His heart was beating too quickly, making it hard to speak at a normal pace. "This isn't really an official visit."

"Oh?" The datapad slid carelessly off her knees and on to the bed as she stood up. She crossed the length of the small room without speaking, leaving her back to him as she poured herself a glass of water from a pitcher that sat on one of the few shelves.

_Rahna had reached for a sip of water, too, exhausted fingers closing around the cool glass in weary defiance. Vyrnnus' rage… a jagged ivory spear of bone jutting from her forearm…_

Glass in hand, it was Shepard who turned to face him. "Then, why _are_ you here?"

He wasn't even sure himself. "I… wanted to see you, make sure you were all right."

She took a slow sip of water, watching him with those unreadable eyes. "They aren't torturing me, if that's what you're asking. They don't _believe_ me, either, but I never really expected them to."

The words slipped out. "Did you do it? I've heard rumours, but—"

"Yes." She set the glass down with enough force that water slopped over the edges of the rim. "You want a confession, Kaidan? Fine." Her voice was soft and dangerous. "I worked with Cerberus—willingly—as you're well aware, because the Alliance didn't want to listen. They still don't. I was responsible for the deaths of every single one of those batarians, and I'd kill them all again if I was put in the same position." She turned away from him, bracing her hands on the lowest shelf. "But, it doesn't matter and they've all died for nothing because nobody fucking believes me." She stayed like that for a moment before crossing her arms tightly across her chest and turning back to face him. "Happy now? You want anything else?"

"No, Shepard, I…" He rubbed his temples with one hand, feeling the familiar start of a migraine setting in. "I didn't come here to… accuse you."

Shepard blew out a hard breath and sat down on the edge of the bed; shoulders slumped and elbows resting on her thighs. He was suddenly struck by how tired she looked. Worn down. Defeated. "What do you want from me, Kaidan?"

He took another step towards her. "I wanted to apologize. For Horizon, for everything."

She sighed wearily. "I don't need an apology. None of that matters." She pushed the hair out of her eyes and looked up at him. "Don't you understand? The Reapers are coming."

"How can you be sure?" He wished he could just _believe_ her, swallow it all down, and dismiss his doubts. But, she'd been dead… he'd stood there, growing colder until he couldn't feel his fingers, his toes, his ears, his heart; watching as the last escape pods had rained down from the corpse of the Normandy like falling stars, hers not among them. Cerberus had brought her back, or something that had looked and acted like her, but who knew what else they'd done? All the Alliance had, all _he_ had, to go on was Shepard's word.

"I'm sure." She gazed at him fiercely. "You can believe me, or not. I don't care. You want an apology, too? Okay, I'm sorry about what happened before Ilos. I should have known better, but I won't lie and say that I was caught in the heat of the moment or some other sort of bullshit cop-out. I knew what I was doing when I chose to disregard the regs. I was in command, and it was my error in judgement." She stood up again, taking a step towards him as he felt her biotics beginning to surge. "I cared about you, Kaidan. More than I should have. But, it was all a mistake."

"Maybe it was." He shivered, trying to keep his own biotics from responding to hers. "Maybe it _was_ a mistake, but I knew what I was doing, too. It was my error in judgement as much as it was yours. I'm sorry… that I hurt you, that I—"

"Stop. Just stop. I don't care." A nimbus of blue had formed unconsciously around her hands. "I don't care anymore." Her eyes were hard.

This had been a bad idea. He was making things worse. "Look, if you want me to go, I'll go. I wasn't trying to make things harder for you. I'd only wanted…" He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know what I wanted. To make things right, I guess. If you want me to go, I'll go."

"I think that would be for the best."

"Yeah. Okay. You're probably right." He made it most of the way to the door before she spoke again.

"I'm with Garrus now. I thought you should know."

He stopped, the ground falling away beneath his feet as her words sliced through him. He tried to remind himself that it was over between them, that it had been for a long time. Maybe it had never even existed at all.

"I didn't know," he said at last. How much had he ever really known about her? The truth, as bitter and burning as it was, slithered down to join the boulders in his gut. How much had he never even bothered to find out, too consumed by his own demons? "He joined up with you when you were with Cerberus, right? Never doubted… I mean, he always believed in you."

"Yeah. Yeah, he did."

The red access panel was in front of him now as he tapped in the temporary passcode; it would be de-activated as soon as he passed through the door.

"Good-bye, Shepard."

oOoOo

That night, he found solace at the bottom of a whisky bottle and staggered off to bed once he was finally too drunk to think or reason or feel. He watched the room spin lazily on its axis, smearing the stars that were visible through the window into streaks of light. Escape pods streaming from the wreckage; never landing, forever falling. The ghost of Rahna's fingers smoothed back his hair, pressing lips of ice against the heat of his brow.

"Shepard," he murmured into the darkness of the room, into the darkness that waited to devour him.

There was no answer.

* * *

_A/N: This was written for the lovely Letticiae's birthday (sorry I'm so late!), who writes wonderful Kaidan/FemShep. Please go check out "In My Life" or any of her other stories; you won't be disappointed._

_A giant thank you to Josie Lange as well, for putting up with me, and for being a fantastic beta and friend. :)_

_For additional ambiance, I recommend the song 'What a Good Boy' by the Barenaked Ladies, as it was stuck in my head the whole time I was working on this and it definitely influenced this piece._


End file.
